Thrills and tomatoes

pudgeykitten — Sun, 14 Apr 2013 07:32:00 GMT

The alarm goes off at 5am, you grab the small bag you packed the night before and discard bed clothes for white t-shirts, its freezing at this hour but go jacketless anyway, a hoodie is just another thing to lose. This all sounds pretty strange, and even stranger if I try and convince you that it the start to one of the best travel and holiday experiences you will have. That was the start of my day last August when I and two friends made our pilgrimage to Bunol, a small town in Valencia and unknown except as being the home of La Tomatina or tomato festival. Promising more ketchup carnage than a Tarantino film it seemed like one of those things that must be done even once in your life.

The early start was in order to catch the 6am train. A quiet tram ride and it seemed there was only a handful of the slightly insane doing the same as us, we went on anyway. Arriving at the train station, as yet unopened, we were proved wrong in our assumptions that it was going to be a sedate group attending. Hundreds of people of all nationalities were queuing waiting to be let onto the boarding platform. This was the begining of an epic experience. Beer and lots of banter with aesthetically pleasing Aussies, it could not fail to be a good day. Getting to Bunol and the party kicks off for real. Everywhere people are drinking and eating ham sandwiches, if that is not enough to make an Irish person feel at home then there is the massive sense of craic to go with it. Bunol is usually a backward, sleepy town but for one day of the year it is party central. You wait until 11am in crowds for the tomato throwing to start, this may seem like a lot of standing around but they know how to keep the tipsy mobs entertained. Hang a ham on a greased telephone pole and make people climb/battle to grab it, it sounds mad, stupid and crazy but really it is the best fun. The tough beat their way to the front to climb first the crush of a human pyramid for the leg up to the pole get the assent started. Believe me it is not for the faint hearted. I am proud to say that I was the first woman of the day to attempt the climb, making it half way up, standing on numerous peoples heads, losing my shoes and getting absolutely covered in grease. It was worth it and made me a mini celebrity for a few hours!

The festival itself starts with a cannon sounding. Then trucks drive through the streets pelting tomatoes. It is then a carnage of a crush, water cannons, and a street flowing with juice. Absolutely unbelievable and terrifying at the same time. My memories are of trying to stay up right, the urge to take out any feelings of violence with the hurling of tomatoes and the pain when you get blasted yourself. It was a sea of red and limbs, and then red limbs, word of warning, tomato juice burns!

After the epic fight it is a walk to find friends and re group, you get sprayed and cleaned by locals as you make your way back. Adrenalin is pumping like never before and like it never will again. The party continues, the fiesta flows and those staying make for the bars or those going back to Valencia make their way for the train. I would urge anyone to make it a bucket list contender, it is one of the strangest things you will do and the feeling of pride in survival is thrilling. By the end of the day you are tired, wet and if like us will have lost a few belongings and may never use ketchup again but the hostel back in Valencia was waiting and so are good tapas and excellent beer, a perfect way to celebrate one of the ultimate travel experiences.

Understanding a Culture through Food - In the breaking of Bread...Bologna

pudgeykitten — Sun, 14 Apr 2013 05:49:21 GMT

People swarm about disguising the creaky second hand tables, benches and peeling walls. The background blends into them. Push your way to the bar and order a drink, A traditional Lambrusco perhaps? And then there is the food. Everyone is eating but there is no kitchen or vendor insight. The busy social scene is a "bring your own". It is Osteria Del Sole and like everywhere in Bologna food is the main priority, food and people.

Demographics are defied in delicacies. The Lacoste polo shirt contingent sit side by side the students stuffing themselves after lectures. The seedy and the needy converse with the bohemian traveler. Families share the long communal tables with neither “ Nonno” or “ Bambino” looking out of place. Chucks of parmesan are cut and shared out while long salamis are thickly sliced to make Panini, tomatoes and fruit nestle beside half empty wine glasses.

Over my head there is a sign that translates as "spitting is forbidden:" this was a cattle market once, so I am told. On the walls pictures of past diners hang; black and white and dusty with age. But history remains in the making and no photo could capture the atmosphere of the tavern for me on that day. Maybe it was because I was hungry, or maybe Bologna ate into my soul like I ate into its produce.

On my first visit alone I sat alone but I was soon joined by a group of aging men; intrigued by the tiny Irish girl. I was taken in to the group, with melon and prosciutto as the currency for conversation. On another occasion my dining companion regaled me with stories of past romances and Paris while we shared savory biscuits and cigarettes. He told me that all people do here is talk about food ,"They talk more about food than love and sex" he said.
In the buying of flesh the soul of the city is laid bare. Food represents almost as much as the “Due Torre”, the symbol of the city, watching over this continuous feast. Here eating out is more than the rowdy “Pinxos Crawl” of the Basques or the symbolic tea times of china. In these walls food is not only a ritual but a responsibility. Laughter and talk are only broken to chew, or should that be the other way round?

The clink as my glass is taken away reminds me I have to leave. I step outside, expecting to be faced by reality. There is a queue out of the door of the butchers and someone shouts something about "Pomodori" from a fruit stall. And then I remember this is "La Grassa;” The Fat One, and I smile as I look forward to dinner.

One step at a time

Thrills and tomatoes

Understanding a Culture through Food - In the breaking of Bread...Bologna